


Shift

by kradarua



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, M/M, Shifter Dean, Shifter Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6460780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kradarua/pseuds/kradarua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In front of him Sam was cackling, enjoying Castiel’s pain and reminding him of the other reason he was here. After all, Sam Winchester did not cackle. Perhaps if it had been the older Winchester, Castiel would not have been tricked so easily. He knew the Righteous Man inside and out, after all, but perhaps the shifter knew that.</p><p>---</p><p>Castiel gets himself into trouble with a shifter who knows about his little crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Very hastily proofread by me. Sorry about mistakes.
> 
> I wrote this for a Halloween-themed challenge awhile ago, and am just now getting around to posting it here.

 

Sam’s fist sailed through the air in a practiced arc, landing mercilessly against Castiel’s already aching jaw. His face snapped to the right with the force of the blow, knocking against his raised arm and jostling the chains that held his wrists in a too-tight grip above his head. His chest heaved and blood began to slip from the new cut on his bottom lip, surprising him—human punches shouldn’t hurt an angel, even if the punches came from a giant like Sam—before he recalled dully that these chains bore angel-warding sigils, which was partly the reason he was stuck here in the first place.

 

In front of him Sam was cackling, enjoying Castiel’s pain and reminding him of the other part of the reason he was here. After all, Sam Winchester did not cackle. Perhaps if it had been the older Winchester, Castiel would not have been tricked so easily. He knew the Righteous Man inside and out, after all, but perhaps the shifter knew that.

 

This old factory was big; Dean had suggested that they split up to cover more ground, so off Sam, Dean, and Castiel went in different directions, each armed with a silver knife and a reminder to be wary of anyone else they might come across lest they become the shifter’s latest disguise. Castiel had made his way towards the east side of the place, following shadowy corridors and peering into rooms as he went, the beam from his flashlight falling harshly against cracking tiles, dusty glass instruments, and the sides of ancient metal machinery. Eventually, he had found himself in what must have been an assembly space; old conveyor belts stretched away from him into the darkness, and large vats and bins lined the walls. It was silent, save for Castiel’s own dust-muffled footsteps, but he felt as though he could hear echoes of the room’s past liveliness, as though the room itself was humming its age at him.

 

A loud clang to his right brought him out of his quiet observance and he had turned to find Sam bending low to grab his flashlight from where it had rolled under a conveyor belt.

 

“Sam? Did you find something? I thought you were going towards the west wing.” Castiel kept his voice low in case there were others listening from the shadows.

 

Sam had shrugged carelessly, replying “I was, but I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I did find something though, looks like the shifter recently shed his old skin. Come take a look.”

 

Warnings from Dean forgotten, Castiel had wordlessly followed Sam back into one of the corridors. Sam had aimed his flashlight forward until it landed on a pile of skin and bloody residue from the shifter’s previous disguise. He had stepped forward to take a closer look and had heard the rattle of chains before one of his wrists was cuffed and his angel magic rendered useless, and then Sam had struck him and the world had gone black.

 

He was an idiot, if Castiel was honest with himself.

 

“So, where is it?”

 

When Castiel didn’t answer him immediately, the shifter held his flashlight up so that is shined directly into Castiel’s face, causing spots to burst into his vision and his head to throb. He squinted in an attempt to make out the shifter beyond the light.

 

“Even if I did know, and even if you could make me tell you, what could a shifter possibly want with an angel tablet? Are shifters allowed to become prophets? I was not aware.” Despite his pain Castiel spoke evenly, jabbing at the shifter’s pride. He may be captive, but that didn’t nullify his experience as Commander of the heavenly garrison; he knew how to hold his own as a hostage. It was only a matter of developing a strategy and waiting for the correct moment to make a move.

 

The Sam-shaped shifter sneered at him, lowering the flashlight and moving into Castiel’s personal space.

 

“Listen, you miserable dick,” the shifter snarled in Sam’s voice, putrid breath hitting Castiel’s sensitive nose with each word, “you and the Lose-chesters unleashed the Darkness, which means we are back to hovering on the edge of an apocalypse. I would be all for that except this time, instead of just watching the idiot humans squabble and fight and panic until they are eventually wiped out, my ass is on the line too, because rumor has it the Darkness isn’t picky.” The shifter stepped away from Castiel, ambling slightly away from him as he continued talking. Castiel looked around himself for anything to aid in his escape. His angel blade was still inside his trench coat, but attacking wasn’t going to be a viable option until he was free of the angel-proof handcuffs, and for that he would need Dean or Sam.

 

“So I figure,” the shifter continued, facing Castiel enough that he could see a sarcastically easy smile spreading over his face, “any bargaining chip is a good one, right? Desperate times and all that.” He faced Castiel fully again and spread his arms in a gesture that echoed his why-the-hell-not attitude. Castiel noticed that the skin on Sam’s face was starting to peel, and his eyes looked sunken and dull. The shifter would have to shed soon.

 

His gaze did not go unnoticed by the shifter, who brought a hand to his face to feel the damage. There was really no need; his hands were peeling too. He heaved an annoyed sigh at his own physiology, and addressed Castiel again, holding out his hand as evidence.

 

“Well, you know. Nature calls. Can you help me pick out what to wear?” Castiel glared back at him, silent. “I could put on your face and find your idiot friends. Or I could put on Dean’s face and see if you’re willing to open up more to him. Thoughts?”

 

He didn’t wait for an answer before disappearing out of Castiel’s view. From a distance he could hear the horrible squelching and wet ripping sounds as the shifter shed his Sam outfit, pieces of flesh dropping to the floor with sodden plops. The noises made Castiel’s stomach turn. After several minutes, Dean Winchester came into view, although Castiel knew that this wasn’t really Dean. The eyes weren’t warm enough, the gait too relaxed, the smirk more evil than cocky.

 

“I went with option B.” The shifter winked cheekily at him, coming close and stopping directly in front of Castiel while the angel determinedly avoided the green eyes trying to capture his attention. A hand reached out and took hold of his tie, and Castiel wished he could pull away.

 

“You know, the brothers are idiots. I mean it’s like they willfully ignore what’s right in front of them, you know? The rest of us aren’t so stupid. We know about your little crush on… _humanity_.” The last word was said slowly, deliberately, and the meaning behind it was obvious. Castiel finally met the shifter’s gaze, ready with a withering response, but his words died on his tongue. He hadn’t realized how…difficult wasn’t the right word, it wasn’t difficult because he knew with absolute certainty that he was looking at a shifter. But seeing Dean Winchester’s eyes peering back at him, hearing Dean’s voice fall from Dean’s mouth, having Dean this unusually close to him felt surreal.

 

“What if I kissed you, Cas?” Hearing the nickname was jarring. “If I kissed you, would you tell me where the angel tablet is? I’ve heard angels don’t care much for physical intimacy, but if I recall you were human once. You must have wondered.”

 

Without his grace working there was little he could do to hide the very human flush that crept it’s way up his neck. His eyes remained steady, however, because this wasn’t Dean. He didn’t want this _thing_ to touch him in any way. He spat a summation of those thoughts at the face in front of him, the words sharp as they lashed themselves out of his mouth.

 

“ _Bite me.”_

 

The shifter snarled and pushed his mouth against Castiel’s unwilling one, taking his words literally and tearing a new cut into Castiel’s swollen bottom lip. Unpleasant was an understatement; the shifter stank of gore and grime, and despite the sting Castiel pressed his mouth shut tightly against the attack, twisting his neck in an attempt to break the contact.

 

He was saved by the sound of a handgun going off from somewhere to his left. The shifter stopped moving instantly, falling limply against him before gracelessly sliding sideways onto the floor, an unseen silver bullet lodged soundly in his temporal lobe. Even though it was never Dean, Castiel felt his stomach turn at the blank, dead green eyes still aimed at him.

 

But then there was more movement and the real Dean appeared before Castiel, reaching up to pick apart the chains while Sam confirmed that his shot had truly killed the shifter. Able to lower his arms at long last, Castiel was so engrossed in the wonderful feeling of no longer being stretched that he didn’t immediately hear the scolding Dean was giving him as he picked the lock on the cuffs.

 

“—and I mean we _talked_ about this man, did you even ask it to do the silver test?! Jesus! This place is huge what if we hadn’t found you until it was too late?”

 

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

 

He met Dean’s gaze, warm green eyes grumpy but relieved, and offered his best apologetic expression. After a moment Dean huffed and looked away, dropping the now unlocked handcuffs to the ground with a muted clang. Castiel felt the cool rush of his grace sweep over him and sighed in contentment at having his injuries mended, finally.

 

The drive home was silent. They arrived at the bunker just as the sun was coming up, and Sam yawned before announcing that he was going to bed. Dean and Castiel followed behind him towards the bedrooms, each disappearing through his respective door.

 

Castiel began to peel out of his clothes, suddenly weary even though angels did not sleep. He donned a t-shirt and his new sweatpants, an article of clothing that Dean _insisted_ he have, and truthfully he could understand why. Now that he was comfortable, he would find something to do until Sam and Dean woke up. He’d read a book perhaps, or watch Netflix—

 

His train of thought was cut off by a quiet, almost hesitant-sounding knock at his door. He opened it to find Dean, looking down at his own feet.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

Dean’s eyes flicked briefly up to meet Castiel’s before lowering once again, though not all the way to the floor. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and Castiel waited patiently for him to speak.

 

“Heya Cas, I—listen I just wanted to uh…apologize I guess, for what that shifter did when he, um, looked like me.” Castiel blinked at him, confused. Dean was good at self-loathing, it was true, but surely he didn’t blame himself over Castiel getting captured.

 

“Dean, I made a mistake. You are not the reason I was taken hostage.”

 

“No, Cas, that’s not what I—“ Dean paused, scrubbing a hand over his reddening cheeks. “I meant—I’m sorry that he, ya know.” He paused again, this time to swipe his tongue against his lower lip anxiously. “That he, uh. Kissed you.”

 

“Oh.” That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. But, that definitely wasn’t Dean’s fault either. “That was his doing, not yours. No need to apologize. I am sorry if seeing him do that made you uncomfortable. If you wish, I will forget it happened.” Denial was Dean’s defense mechanism, and while it wasn’t very healthy, Castiel figured Dean deserved peace in whatever way he could find it. If Dean wanted him to forget it, then he would.

 

To his surprise, Dean didn’t look pleased by the offer. He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to reconsider before finally trying again.

 

“No, that’s…actually, I wanted to see if you maybe wanted to…to try it with—with me. Can’t, uh, can’t have you thinking what you experienced was a good reflection of what it’s like to kiss me, ya know?” Dean laughed nervously at his own joke, lowering his eyes to the floor again as his face flushed. Castiel didn’t answer right away, and Dean must have taken that as rejection, because he moved to turn back down the hallway, saying “I—I was just kidding, don’t worry about—“

 

“Dean.” Castiel put a hand on his shoulder to stop him leaving. Dean turned to face him again and Castiel didn’t really see the point in bothering with words. There would be time for words later. Now, he stepped forward and pressed his mouth gently to Dean’s, waiting for reciprocation. He didn’t have to wait long, and soon arms were around his waist and Dean was kissing back, shy but earnest.

 

After a moment, they broke apart and observed each other. Castiel could feel that his cheeks were slightly flushed, and noted that Dean looked both happy and as though he were anticipating some kind of evaluation.

 

“Much better than the shifter,” he said, and a smile broke out across Dean’s face Castiel jerked his head back in the direction of his room. “Would you like to stay with me, Dean?”

 

Dean smiled wider and leaned forward to press another soft kiss against Castiel’s mouth.

 

“Sure Cas.”


End file.
